locul potrivit.la multi ani.

.

never thought of the taxi drivers as the ones who know shit about what's goin on in the city, but i guess this perspective is also possible. a friend told me that they also have deals with the police, notice the houses that call too many cabs too many times a day and sometimes they give information bout those people- who comes, who goes and so and so. also because they have their own areas, and they are constantly there, constantly seeing shit, and then selling information.

Pedagogy of the oppressed- chapter one part two, excerpts

Perhaps the most influential thinker about education in the late twentieth century, Paulo Freire has been particularly popular with informal educators with his emphasis on dialogue and his concern for the oppressed.

Paulo Freire (1921 - 1997), the Brazilian educationalist, has left a significant mark on thinking about progressive practice. His Pedagogy of the Oppressed is currently one of the most quoted educational texts (especially in Latin America, Africa and Asia). Freire was able to draw upon, and weave together, a number of strands of thinking about educational practice and liberation. Sometimes some rather excessive claims are made for his work e.g. 'the most significant educational thinker of the twentieth century'. He wasn't - John Dewey would probably take that honour - but Freire certainly made a number of important theoretical innovations that have had a considerable impact on the development of educational practice - and on informal education and popular education in particular. (viahttp://www.infed.org/thinkers/et-freir.htm)

PEDAGOGY OF THE OPPRESSED

(translated by Myra Bergman Ramos - )

Chapter one, part two, excerpts

Any situation in which A objectively exploits B of hinders his and her pursuit of self-affirmation as a responsible person is one of oppression. Such a situation in itself constitutes violence, even when sweetened by false generosity, because it interferes with the individual’s ontological and historical vocation to become more fully human. With the establishment of a relationship of oppression, violence has already begun.

Violence is initiated by those who oppress, who exploit, who fail to recognize others as persons- not by those who are oppressed, exploited and unrecognized. It is not the unloved who initiate disaffection, but those who cannot love because they love only themselves.

For the oppressors, “human beings” refers only to themselves; other people are “things”. For the oppressors, there exists only one right: their right to live in peace, over against the right, not always even recognized, but simply conceded, of the oppressed to survival. And they make this concession only because the existence of the oppressed is necessary to their own existence.

This behavior, this way of understanding the world and people is explained by their existence as a dominant class. Once a situation of violence and oppression has been established, it engenders an entire way of life and behavior for those caught up in it- oppressors and oppressed alike. Both are submerged in this situation, and both bear the marks of oppression.

The oppressor consciousness tends to transform everything surrounding it into n object of its domination. The earth, property, production, the creations of people, people themselves, time- everything is reduced to the status of objects at its disposal.

In their unrestrained eagerness to possess, the oppressors develop the conviction that it is possible for them to transform everything into objects of their purchasing power; hence their strictly materialistic conception of existence. Money is the measure of all things, and profit the primary goal. For the oppressors, what is worthwhile is to have more- always more- even t the cost of the oppressed having less or having nothing. For them, to be is to have and to be the class of the “haves”.

The oppressors do not perceive the monopoly on having more as a privilege which dehumanizes others and themselves. They cannot see that, in the egoistic pursuit of having as a possessing class, they suffocate in their own possessions and no longer are; they merely have. For them, having more is an inalienable right, a right they acquired through their own “effort”, with their “courage to take risks.” If others do not have more, it is because they are incompetent and lazy, and worst of all is their unjustifiable ingratitude towards the “generous gestures” of the dominant class. Precisely because they are “ungrateful” and “envious”, the oppressed are regarded as potential enemies who must be watched.

If the humanization of the oppressed signifies subversion, so also does their freedom; hence the necessity for constant control. And the more the oppressors control the oppressed, the more they change them into apparently inanimate “things”. This tendency of the oppressor consciousness to in-animate everything and everyone it encounters, in its eagerness to possess, unquestionably corresponds with a tendency to sadism.

“The pleasure in complete domination over another person (or other animate creature) is the very essence of the sadistic drive. Another way of formulating the same thought is to say that the aim of sadism is to transform a man into a thing, something animate into something inanimate, since by complete and absolute control the living loses one essential quality of life- freedom.” (Erich Fromm, “The heart of Man”, New York 1966)

Sadistic love is a perverted love- a love of death, not of life. One of the characteristics of the oppressor consciousness and its necrophilic view of the world is thus sadism. As the oppressor consciousness, in order to dominate tries to deter the drive to search, the restlessness and the creative power which characterize life, it kills life.

Given the preceding context, another issue of indubitable importance arises: the fact that certain members of the oppressor class join the oppressed in their struggle for liberation, thus moving from one pole of the contradiction to another. It happens, however, that as they cease to be exploiters or indifferent spectators or simply the heirs of exploitation and move to the side of the exploited, they almost always bring with them the marks of their origin: their prejudices and their deformations, which include a lack of confidence in the people’s ability to think, to want and to know. Accordingly, these adherents to the people’s cause constantly run the risk of falling onto a type of generosity as malefic as that of the oppressors. The generosity of the oppressors is nourished by an unjust order, which must be maintained in order to justify that generosity. Our converts on the other hand, truly desire to transform the unjust order; but because of their background they believe that they must be the executors of the transformation. They talk about the people, but they do not trust them; and trusting the people is indispensable precondition for revolutionary change. A real humanist can be identified more by his trust in the people, which engages him in their struggle, than by a thousand actions in their favor without that trust.

Those who authentically commit themselves to the people must re-examine themselves constantly. This conversion is so radical s not to allow of ambiguous behavior. To affirm this conversion but to consider oneself the proprietor of revolutionary wisdom – which must then be given to (or imposed on ) the people- is to retain the old ways. The convert who approaches the people but feels alarm at each step they take, each doubt they express and each suggestion they offer, and attempts to impose his “status”, remains nostalgic towards his origins.

The peasant begins to get courage to overcome his dependence when he realizes that he is dependent. Until then, he goes along with the boss and says “What can I do? I’m only a peasant.”
When superficially analyzed, this fatalism is sometimes interpreted as a docility that is a trait of national character. Fatalism in the guise of docility is the fruit of an historical and sociological situation, not an essential characteristic of a people’s behavior. It almost always is related to the power of destiny or fate or fortune – inevitable forces – or to a distorted view of God.
Submerged in reality, the oppressed cannot perceive clearly the “order” which serves the interests of the oppressor whose image they have internalized. Chafing under the restrictions of this order, they often manifest a type of horizontal violence, striking out at their own comrades for the pettiest reasons.

“The colonized man will first manifest this aggressiveness which has been deposited in his bones gainst his own people. This is the period when the niggers beat each other up, and the police and magistrates do not know which way to turn when faced with the astonishing waves of crime in North Africa ” (Frantz Fanon- “The wretched of the earth”, New York, 1968)

It is possible that in this behavior they are once more manifesting their duality. Because the oppressor exists within their oppressed comrades, when they attack their comrades they are indirectly ttacking the oppressor as well.

On the other hand, at a certain point in their existential experience the oppressed feel an irresistible attraction towards the oppressors and their way of life. Sharing this way of life becomes an overpowering aspiration. In their alienation, the oppressed want at any cost to resemble the oppressors, to imitate them to follow them. This phenomenon is especially prevalent in the middle-class oppressed, who yearn to be equal to the “eminent” men and women of the upper class.

Self- depreciation is another characteristic of the oppressed, which derives from their internalization of the opinion the oppressors hold of them. So often do they hear that they are good for nothing, know nothing and are incapable of learning anything- that they are sick, lazy and unproductive – that in the end they become convinced of their own unfitness.
They call themselves ignorant and say the “professor” is the one who has knowledge and to whom they should listen.

Almost never do they realize that they too “know things” they have learned in their relations with the world and with other women and men. Given the circumstances which have produced their duality, it is only natural to distrust themselves.

They have a diffuse, magical belief in the invulnerability and power of the oppressor. This total emotional dependence can lead the oppressed to what Fromm calls necrophilic behavior: the destruction of life- their own or that of their oppressed fellows.

It is only when the oppressed find the oppressor out and become involved in the organized struggle for their liberation that they begin to believe in themselves. This discovery cannot be purely intellectual but must involve action; nor can it be limited to mere activism, but must include serious reflection; only then will it be a praxis.

Pedagogy of the oppressed- introduction and chapter one part one, excerpts

Perhaps the most influential thinker about education in the late twentieth century, Paulo Freire has been particularly popular with informal educators with his emphasis on dialogue and his concern for the oppressed.

Paulo Freire (1921 - 1997), the Brazilian educationalist, has left a significant mark on thinking about progressive practice. His Pedagogy of the Oppressed is currently one of the most quoted educational texts (especially in Latin America, Africa and Asia). Freire was able to draw upon, and weave together, a number of strands of thinking about educational practice and liberation. Sometimes some rather excessive claims are made for his work e.g. 'the most significant educational thinker of the twentieth century'. He wasn't - John Dewey would probably take that honour - but Freire certainly made a number of important theoretical innovations that have had a considerable impact on the development of educational practice - and on informal education and popular education in particular. In this piece we assess these - and briefly examine some of the critiques that can be made of his work. (via http://www.infed.org/thinkers/et-freir.htm)

PEDAGOGY OF THE OPPRESSED

(translated by Myra Bergman Ramos - )

Intro, excerpts

Fear of freedom, of which its possessor is not necessarily aware, makes him see ghosts.

Men and women rarely admit their fear of freedom openly, however, tending rather to camouflage it – sometimes unconsciously- by presenting themselves as defenders of freedom. They give their doubts nd misgivings an air of profound sobriety, as befitting custodians of freedom. But they confuse freedom with the maintenance of the status quo.

These pages, which introduce the “pedagogy of the oppressed”, result from my observations during 6 years of political exile, observations which have enriched those previously afforded by my educational activities in Brazil.

Chapter one, excerpts

Concern for humanization leads at once to the recognition of dehumanization, not only as an ontological possibility, but s an historical reality. And as an individual perceives the extent of dehumanization, he or she may ask if humanization is a viable possibility. Within history, in concrete, objective contexts, both humanization and dehumanization are possibilities for a person as an uncompleted being conscious of their incompletion.

But while both humanization and dehumanization are real alternatives, only the first is the people’s vocation. This vocation is constantly negated, yet it is affirmed but that very negation.

Dehumanization, which marks not only those whose humanity has been stolen, but also (though in a different way) those who have stolen it, is a distortion of the vocation of becoming more fully human. This distortion occurs within history; but it is not a historical vocation. Indeed, to admit of dehumanization as an historical vocation would lead either to cynicism or total despair. The struggle for humanization, for the emancipation of labor, for the overcoming of alienation, for the affirmation of men and women as persons would be meaningless. This struggle is possible only because dehumanization, although a concrete historical fact, is not a given destiny but the result of an unjust order that engenders violence in the oppressors, which in turn dehumanizes the oppressed.

Because it is a distortion of being more fully human, sooner or later being less human leads the oppressed to struggle against those who made them so. In order for this struggle to have meaning, the oppressed must not, in seeking to regain their humanity, (which is a way to create it), become in turn oppressors of the oppressors, which in turn dehumanizes the oppressed.

The oppressors, who oppress, exploit and rape by the virtue of their power, cannot find in this power the strength to liberate either the oppressed or themselves.

Any attempt to “soften” the power of the oppressor in deference to the weakness of the oppressed almost always manifests itself in the form of false generosity.

True generosity consists precisely in fighting to destroy the causes which nourish false charity.

This lesson and this apprenticeship must come, however, from the oppressed themselves and from those who are truly solidary with them. They will not gain this liberation by chance, but through the praxis of their quest for it, through their recognition of their necessity to fight for it. And this fight, because of the purpose given it by the oppressed, will actually constitute an act of love opposing the lovelessness which lies at the heart of the oppressors’ violence, lovelessness even when clothed in false generosity.

The fear of freedom, which afflicts the oppressed, a fear which may equally well lead them to desire the role of oppressor or bind them to the role of oppressed, should be examined. One of the basic elements of the relationship between oppressor and oppressed is prescription. Every prescription represents the imposition of one individual’s choice upon another, transforming the consciousness of the person prescribed to into one that conforms with the prescriber’s consciousness. Thus, the behavior of the oppressed is a prescribed behavior, following as it does the guidelines of the oppressor.

The oppressed, having internalized the image of the oppressor and adopted his guidelines are fearful of freedom. Freedom would require them to eject this image and replace it with autonomy and responsibility. Freedom is acquired by conquest, not by gift. It must be pursued constantly and responsibly. Freedom is not an ideal located outside of man; nor is it an idea which becomes myth. It is rather the indispensable condition for the quest for human completion.

However, the oppressed, who have adapted to the structure of domination in which they are immersed, and have become resigned to it, are inhibited from waging the struggle for freedom so long as they feel incapable of running the risks it requires. Moreover, their struggle for freedom threatens not only the oppressor, but also their own oppressed comrades who are fearful of still greater repression. When they discover within themselves the yearning to be free, they perceive that this yearning can be transformed into reality only when the same yearning is aroused in their comrades. But while dominated by the fear of freedom they refuse to appeal to others, or to listen to the appeal of others, or even to the appeals of their own conscience. They prefer gregariousness to authentic comradeship; they prefer the security of conformity with their state of unfreedom to the creative communion produced by freedom and even the very pursuit of freedom.

The oppressed suffer from the duality which has established itself in their innermost being. They discover that without freedom they cannot exist authentically. Yet, although they desire authentic existence, they fear it. They are the at one and the same time themselves and the oppressor whose consciousness they have internalized. The conflict lies in the choice between being wholly themselves or being divided; between ejecting the oppressor within or not ejecting them; between human solidarity or alienation; between following prescriptions or having choices; between being spectators or actors; between acting or having the illusion of acting through the action of the oppressors; between speaking out or being silent, castrated in their power to create and re-create, in their power to transform the world.

This book will present some aspects of what the writer has termed the pedagogy of the oppressed, a pedagogy which must be forged with, not for the oppressed (whether individuals or peoples ) in the incessant struggle to regain their humanity.

The central problem is this: how can the oppressed, as divided, unauthentic beings, participate in the developing of their liberation? The pedagogy of the oppressed is an instrument for their critical discovery that both they and their oppressors are manifestations of dehumanization.

Liberation is thus a childbirth, and a painful one. The man or woman who emerges is a new person, viable only as the oppressor-oppressed contradiction is superseded by the humanization of all people. Or to put it another way, the solution of this contradiction is born in the lbor which brings into the world this new being: no longer oppressor, no longer oppressed, but human in the process of achieving freedom.

This solution cannot be achieved in idealistic terms. In order for the oppressed to be able to wage the struggle for their liberation, they must perceive the reality of oppression not as a closed world from which there is no exit, but as a limited situation which they can transform.

Christmas, workshops and teachers’ dicks

24th. Got back on the 8th with the whole 15 extra-kilos adventure.

Then had the first ‘what you see and what you hear ’ workshop meeting, last Sunday, on the 13th. Great exercise, and also very interesting to see peoples’ different realities and flashes of life. As kostea told me- and I also was thinkin bout that intuitively, the focus is not on the extraordinary, not on the unusual/ this-would-make-a-good-movie things, but on unfolding and looking at our lives and what are they made of. And another interesting thing- smth that andra said- that at first when thinkin about what was she doing last week, the first thought was: “nothing”. The good old “ce ai mai facut?” “nimic”/”chiar nimic”/”bai, nimic” that I encounter so frequently here. and also, related to what graham said when I told him bout this workshop- it is an alternative to the main media sources of news- the media news that are always, but always, hysterical – whether if it’s good news of bad news, it’s always smth that has to be hysterical- a catastrophe, or a over-enthusiastically attitude towards smth that happened. Shet. And that keeps u constantly over-excited, not bein aware of the things in your life, the actual specific things you have around you, because “they don’t matter”. it’s always something else that matters, and that is not here, but somewhere far away, keepin you miserable, frustrated and helpless.

So that was the workshop, first taster session.

Last week- from Wednesday to Sunday, Eugene Buica’s workshop, acting and personal obstacles. One of the great exercises we did was a media deprivation one- which means that for 5 days we didn’t consume/connect with any of the media sources/products/anything that was released to be consumed by the public. No books, no music, no movies, no internet. Shet. Just sit and look at your ghosts. It is a bit troubling, but also makes you realize how easy it is to run away from your own thoughts, the most uncomfortable ones, by listening to your favorite music/watchin a movie/doing some internet surfing, as always. Great great focus and connection to the present, which is smth that constantly appears in my life lately (because I am interested in it?). Learning how to look at and listen to the person in front of you, and how to let him/her see you as well. How to change and to let yourself be changed by your partner. And another great thing, hallelujah, about the performance and the performer as the person who is telling a story, and not as the one who tries to live profound and divine emotions on stage in order to make the audience also feel emotion and all that. Just tell the fuckin story. Eugene link . He has a great attention and works so beautiful that you wish it wouldn’t end.

In the countryside now. I decided to post fragments of “pedagogy of the oppressed” while I re-read it, as I took it with me, together with the watchmen book. Coz people don’t know it and it makes me wanna share it even from the introduction to the introduction where a guy named richrd shaull resumes it. Strange this impulse you have when there’s something that you like so much, that you wanna share it, it’s impossible to experience it alone.

Also workin on a post about tiina’s collaborative work with her hairdresser and her optician.
Had a very interesting discussion with Eugene about the relationship between teachers and students here. He seemed really amazed when we told him that many young students fuck their teachers here/or wouldn’t hesitate if necessary, because they are desperate and they want to make it in life, and many teachers take advantage of their position and try to teach the young students what’s the deal in the arts business, meaning that sometimes, why not, you have to suck a dick or 2. The thing that made me think was actually that Eugene’s genuine amazement made me realize that our attitude towards this was also sort of – “these things happen”, sort of tolerating something that shouldn’t be tolerated in any way.

I am also amazed when I hear that a role model like ion besoiu asks young girls ce parare au despre pula, or that a role model and a teacher like puiu serban puts his hands all over the young students’ body tellin them that’s the deal in showbiz. But what makes me even more amazed is that these young girls are so blocked of fear and shame that they don’t even react, they just let it happen because that’s how things are. When the truth is that this is nothing else but rape, psychological and sometimes even physical rape. And people go to prison for that.

This talk sort of made us realize that the parable with the elephant cub is quite true - when the elephant is just a baby, they tie him with a rope to the tree. And when the elephant grows up and is taller than the tree, it still doesn’t move away from the tree even if it could pluck it out in no time.

the orange bathrobe, morning and more

able to wake up again at 7 o'clock in the morning, watching how the mall appears through the mornin fogg. and those lyrics- "the cars hiss by my window" and then something with waves. like the waves down on the beach. found an old poster with jim morrison 2 days ago, put it in the bathroom.

back from london. luton and wizzair experience. i am now officially the most skillfull illegal traveler ever. managed to get 15 extra kilos hidden in a bag under my huge eastern european jacket. had all my notebooks, books, laptop, camera in it. my "official" luggage, which had to be 10 kilos, was in a nice and small backpack. 9,4. so basically i had a 10 kilos handbag, and a 15 kilos hidden purse.

will have the first workshop session on sunday, at school. what you saw and what you heard this week.

this week, last week. london was beautiful and felt like home. bucharest feels like home as well. i guess i have 2 homes now.

what else- notes from my notebook, like stuff that i should not forget to write on my blog about-

"2 pounds in the bus with javi"- that is, i was in the bus wth javi, just bought stuff for the party on saturday, arms full of stuff, and javi's oyster beeps red. she gets a 10 pounds note to pay cash, the driver says i got no chnge, but wait until the next stop and i'll give you the change, we say ok, and then a guy from the bus gets 2 pounds out of his pocket and says- here, i got 2 pounds, and pays for javi's ticket. not flirty in any kind, not drunk, not on drugs. we say thanks, he says- "it's alright" and moves towards the back of the bus, to take a seat. end of story.

"the clown-woman with a phd in walking and her inflatable couch"- that is Hilary Ramsden, who is just completing her phd in wlking and storytelling.

"the empty room. "i have empty rooms everywhere i live coz i'm always ready to leave to another place. i've been living in my last room for couple of years." his room was empty. he had magazine about boxing on the floor, a book about joy division and a book about tennis and a book about dylan. said he always wanted to be an actor but never performed. he was about 35. owned a bar and almost never used internet. m from scotland."

at luton, waiting for the gate, fell asleep next to a group of people - 2 young girls, an old lady and a young man. one of the girls had a beautiful orange bathrobe on her. she was basically travelling dressed in a bathrobe, a bright orange one. with a white playboy bunny on her back. they were funny. when we went to the gate, the blonde blue eyed lady shouted at them "open your passports!!" and then still angry for some reason, told the young guy- "can you please stop popping gum in my face?that is rude." i wanted to tell her that she is rude, but i couldn't be bothered.”

what u see and what u hear

a show in which there's a black box. you enter. there's somebody in the box together with you. you can't see him, but you hear him and you feel his presence. he asks: what kind of song dyou want?a happy one, a sad one? you choose. he sings it for you, but you don't see him at all. just hear and feel his presence.

7 o'clock in the morning, in the tube, people walk slowly, shoulder to shoulder. ragi was in the subway, everything was packed. a guy was reading the newspaper. he was tall, and kept the newspaper on ragi's head.somewhere in the back, a woman threw up. nobody could move or turn around to see her, they just felt the smell.

a man was feeding 7 squirrels.

tiina brought me toys:

dreaming and dying in teleorman, early and late edits

21 november early in the morning
a new day in front of me, a new day
to watch my grandmother dying or waiting to, a new day
to think about why people here want to correct your thinking
people see me as a utopic a bit childish dreamer who wonders
why are there wars and killings in the world (that's one branch)
or as a confused but still-to-be-taught intellectual
mesmerized by the european colored fantasy with gay people
and colored people (that's another branch)
they make me sad because i realize they have nothing to do with me
although i like them and sometimes they are my family
last night i dreamed i went to the seaside and the sea was made of snow
and ice
the snow was melting and the air was spring-ish and
there were thousands of people on the shore looking at the snow that is melting
couples holding hands, old people, young people
nobody was speaking, and even dan spataru was there.
then i saw that on the sandy part of the shore there are loads of people on camels
so many camels around me, camels taller than usual camels
hurrying somewhere in front of me, some of them werer making little dances
running around in circles, some of them were tiny some of them huge
it was a camel contest or smth
and the snow was melting, it melted it became water and i could
walk through it and when i returned a lady on a camel was sayin
that camels are just like little babies, it is incredible how childish they are.
so i wake up to a new day, change my clothes, get ready
it's really sunny outside
i hope today i won't hear that my thinking is wrong but who knows
keep it low do your shit and that's about it

[later edit]

then i go to grandma round 9 o'clock she just woke up
she says man, i walk around all night long every night [oleeee, da ce ma plimb toata noaptea]
i say in your dream? she says yea. what did you dream of? i say. grapes. she says.
and more? walkin through meadows. all night long i walk trough meadows, meadows, all night long just meadows
and meadows. [pe poieni, pe poieni. toata noaptea numa pe poieni]. i say ok. i dreamt of camels. she says- that is good.
and then she says- the wine is sooooo good this year. so many tastes. i want a bit of wine at lunch. and give me a sip of coffee. and a bit of cheese.

there's another woman in the village who is also waiting to die, same age as grandma, but
this other woman is not eating anymore. grandma asks everyday about her,
if she died already or if she's still goin. she is- well, she's not eating. i eat.
even if i don't feel like eating, i eat.

take care what boy you take, she says. you realize who he is
when u see what water he's drinkin. [iti dai tu seama cine e dupa cum se adapa]
i won't be alive but you take care to take a good boy.

[later edit]

the other woman died today 22 november.
we went me and my mum to the church
twas a ceremony with six people plus the priest seven, talking about greed and also about
the good christian that has to be fully enrolled to this new way of thinking which is christianity and has to give up
his own views and ideas and then he can be a complete man [barbat] and me and my mum looked at eachother
raisin an eyebrow so it's just for men lol anyways also went to vote today
and gave my grandma some slices of pickled tomato when i got back
i dream so much and so deep everytime i sleep, she says, last night i dreamt of neighbour niculin
who was on the roof of the house shootin and said i stay 2 more days in this job then i go on vacation
now my grandma sleeps so much because she dreams so deep and always goes on such long trips

pov

for the first time ever in a dream, i shifted the view as if u shift the perspective when u film smth. twas a guy who was makin jokes and came up at a balcony wth some huge orange fabric wings, like some kites tied to his shoulders, and i was seein him from the back, i was at the same floor wth him. and suddenly, the perspective shifted and i moved at the ground floor on the street in front of the balcony, and i thought- here we go, now we can see him better. he was fooling around with those wings and i had a full view.

and she mentlly hit the button with "like" after remembering this.

what you see and what you hear

he grabs me by the hair and says- we have to see eachother. i'm not good. then i meet another friend near the elevator in TNB - how are you? i ask. i'm not good. i am really bad.

we drink vodka, me and another friend, in this empty grey bar, after saying goodbye 2 a friend who left her kid at home wth her father to run out nd see some theatre at the theatre night, and watched this crppy performnce wth a guy bangin his dick in a choreogrphy about alienation. we talk bout another friend who was convinced by his parents that he has schizofrenia so he decided to have a cure wth 4 tabs of LSD, and then the holy spirit got into him and turned him from gay to straight, showed him the right way. the holy spirit aprently comes quite often here in the land of the desperate.

also i hear about a young girl who fell from the mountin on precipice and died.

i dream about an actress i worked with who falls in a lake and dies.

also i see a performance by carmen cotofana, "stage psychosis", at cndb

and she screams and screms and screams and when she screams i feel good
this is cndb.

teleorman stills

every gate a bench to stay

when i'll miss you i'll light the 2 plastic toys i got

from bricklane when it was cold

and i was still in love with you

still discovering you

they change colors and

it's good at night to see

different colors whenever you open your eyes in fear

i have many words for you but i can't say

anything

anything to your bridges anything to your bricks and trees

in the parks anything to

your smiles laughter demented homeless

anything to your despise to your shyness

anything to your buses

i keep a secret to me about you

long term no term

i read it in a history book: romania is situated at the very boder of europe (east), so even at the beginning of history, there were always foreign armies fuckin everything up wth their conquests.it was a point where everybody wanted to pass. key access point. that is why people in ro never had the notion of "long term", coz they knew that any dwelling they may start building, it will be smashed in about a year or 2.

What u see and what u hear

In the train this gentleman slightly fat, slightly mobster sittin in front of me

He snores for 20 mins and then starts a conversation coz I was reading some history book

Talks about the importance of books vs internet etc etc and then tells us some news coz he’s a doctor

And he’s friends wth everybody that matters so he says stuff about basescu the president of ro that for example when he had to be operated the real reason was because he fell drunk from the stairs and that is why they decided to demolish golden blitz, the pub where he used to drink (don’t know if it has stairs, but it has been demolished) coz he was angry he got drunk there

Also about his secret plan (ups!) to split wth his wife and bring Elena Udrea as the prime minister

Then starts speakin about all the bloody arabs that have a neighbourhood in bruselles and other boring nazi shit so I stop listening then we get to beciu, teleorman (which I read today in that history book means “the big forest” from the cuman language – and it had loads of forests) and we get home and the most recent event is that a neighbour got drunk and beat up another neighbour which is my godfather and people are afraid that this neighbour who is an alcoholic will kill them. Everybody is over 60 in the village. My grandmother said well when that idiot will come in my courtyard, I will tell him hey do you see this path u are walkin on, then turn around and get out and another neighbour said well you know when u get drunk u should go into ur house and look at ur bed and say; heeey, what we got here? Look! There’s a bed. Let’s see what happens. Not beat people up.

Complexul Europa

COMPLEXUL EUROPA- a collective online novel written by 5 authors. story: because of the crisis, Romania is thrown out of the EUropean Union and taken over by China.

welcome to the future and enjoy the ride. all our readers can send comments with suggestions for developing the story, characters, and stories. we write it together.

check it at http://www.bibliofagia.ro/

land of the desperate you watch them disintegrate like you watch a cat die after being hit by a car

you watch them bleed with eyes wide open

2 friends commited suicide and others lost it

so people say

nowadays the word spreads like- did you hear about x? he went crazy too.

you watch them bleeding with eyes wide open

you watch this and ask yourself

wtf

the fucked kids walk between blocks and try to find the beauty

the beauty in their head

home

the happy non-fucked kids walk on broad streets, rivers, clubs and gardens the fucked kids walk from one block to another and the beauty is not around them but in their head

yet i heard that there are about 30 swans some black and some white in parcul cismigiu, some white some black, and parcul ioanid is small but beautiful

also had a quick update about our political situation and i was wonderin was is the most efficient tool to create pressure on these people- that seem to generate continuous material for absurd plays- maybe pressure in media abroad? maybe writin about them nonstop? youtube? seems that is no information flow between this circus and abroad

sunday

Bum bum. Pow. When the car got out of the city, all London suddenly became small and got into her bags. It was hiding there, in the colours, in the objects, suddenly having such precise and small shapes, comprised. It was there. Suddenly, the car in the dark and Rj’s hand, and the huge sky above. There is a song that used to obsess her when thinking about London 3 years ago. Senorita tristeza. Then she would listen to it during all the summer with Sorin. And then the song came back, that night, under the full moon with a big ray glowing around it. The evening walk was perfect. It was the four of them, and the saxophone singing, and the sky turning purple, and the water on Thames, dark blue and black. Black waters again. Every little detail fell so perfectly even in the sounds around, that made her think of that song again and again. When she got to the airport, she put her headphones and played it. She thought of trying to fit al the memories into words, but there’s so many memories that you wouldn’t even know where to begin. They’re not even memories yet, they are in the process of becoming, like the image with everybody in front of the house when leaving, waving their hands, or crossing the bridge again for the last time. She thought at first to make a list of all the names. Rj. Javi. Raghi. Antoine. Anna. Judy. Mark. Tiina. Nico. Chris. Adam. Cucho. Guaton. Anita. Maca. Ale. Patrice. Sarah. Chrissie. Hogash. Kota. James. Davie. Ioana. Sorin. Kevin. Dan. Misha. Paul. Dani. Aurora. The parents. All the parents. The beautiful auntie Sonia. The jolly balloon night in Dean house kitchen. Diego. The balloons. The hundreds of kids with serious eyes asking for balloons because it’s essential. The bikes in Mark’s home. The yellow flower I bought. The bottles Mark put in the ground to make a semicircle and me and Rj said it’s not that cool even though he was so proud of this invention. The coal last night, at the party. The black hands. The pevre. The piscola. The 18’s. Anita. The first days in the Brockley house. The 2 mice in the kitchen. Antoine’s cups of coffee. Raghi’s exhibition, and me feeling so woman-ish elegant. Like a lady. The fallin asleep in the bus. The wrong wake up. The way Raghi was sleeping on me. The little house for the snail Raghi drew on the window at Dean House. The conversation I had with Cucho last night about communicating. Oscar. Titi. The first barbecues at Anita’s. The girl we met at Covent garden when selling balloons and she had some ducks on her dress but they were not ducks, they were loons. Covent garden. Chester. Chester’s guitar. My umbrella. The day I sat with Sorin and Diego on the lawn and watch the balloons and played with the umbrella. The drawing I made in class about 27. My 28 birthday, when I decided that I probably am not a rock star. The thing Mark said that day when we did that exercise in class, and I was this little cute colored thing drawing a huge ugly skull on the whiteboard. The sound of the piano at that exercise. The memory surfing exercise, that became what I’m doing now. I’m wondering what is with this memory thing, that I have to keep mentioning it. Amnesia, to forget and memory became such usual words in my speech. Well annoying. The glass table in the garden. The candles. The bathroom without light, and the candle showers. The night Mark called me and I was in the shower and I felt so awkwardly emotional before meeting, like a school girl. The first going outs with Rj, and with Rj and James. The moments, in the beginning, when we were telling each other every two weeks that we are so lucky to have met. The night Ioana made me go in the kitchen, back at Dean House, when everybody was havin drinks and I said no I don’t wanna but Ioana said come on girl let’s socialize and we did, and Rj was – hey, do you know I’m a reverend? The night Diego came to Dean house and taught us how to sing with a deflated balloon. The pink saxophone. The plans. The talks. Pedagogy of the oppressed. The comings and goings. Berlin. Dan. Dan cooking. The ciorba we never got to make. The shock Jiao Jiao had when she saw how I make egg fried rice. “This just changed my life, she said.” The short cooking movies. The three weeks of writing the book, and Rj checkin up on me, just to see if I’m ok. The wine James brought for my birthday. My birthday. Walking in Brick Lane. Walking in Brick Lane with Misha. Same spots, different people. Always different people. Don’t get attached. I was telling Rj that this is so weird for me because I will feel that a part of me is missing when I’ll go back home, like somebody kept your arm or one leg in London. Crippled. Put the base in your disabled walk. Lol. I even saw Daedelus in London. I even saw Kazu in London. I saw everybody I was supposed to, like in one of those things when you make a list with all the problems you have to solve in order to make a, how they call it, new start. A less messy one. Funny enough, I’m sober in the airport, not crying, not drunk, not hangover, not desperate. Not even that scared anymore. Thinking about things I learned. It’s funny how you always try to make a sense out of things, not only a sense, but another sense, like you would need to translate or something, to give them another extra meaning besides the simple meaning they contain. That night on the water reservoir. London is the weirdest city. Ever. Orlando Harrison was right- you love it and you hate it. But in a very intense way. And then you look at yourself as the result of the meeting between you and this city. You look at this image and say: who is this woman? I don’t really know her. Thought I did, but I don’t. Like it was in the performance: you loved it so much, it made you want to do it again and again and again. It’s strange that back home things seemed to be 2 dimensional, and now they earned at least another 2 dimensions. It became so much deeper and multi-layered. And time became different too. Right. Coz I’ve been living near the place where time starts, in Greenwhich. The green light of time. The morning I woke up and realized I can’t go back to the old dramatic-russian feelings. That day was so simple and clear, and beautiful, when I walked home with a flower for Javi, and with a huge smile on my face, and then sat outside and looked at the grey sky. Javi was so beautiful that day, smoking outside, with her dark grey sweater, and the long long hair. Some little things I will miss so much. Nico’s smile and laughter and the way he throws his head on the back a little when he laughs. Cucho’s innocent smile when he smiles with all his heart and looks like a lamb. A jolly one. Anita’s freshness and the way she says “and all that”. Raghi’s look when she doesn’t understand something. Morning rituals and waking up together. That moment when you open your eyes exactly the same second as somebody and you sort of step together into the day. Mark’s gesture when he’s enthusiastic about something and he’s rubbin his hands. The way he walked out of Amersham, with his helmet and his drum like a proper knight goin to fight the army. Shet. Hope ur good and they didn’t put you in any Istanbul prison by now. About Centrepoint I can’t even write, I felt that my heart literally hurt when I walked out, it was so fuckin sad and weird. For me it was as if that place is always gonna be there, about 20 mins far in Camberwell around the corner. And one of the best things somebody told me that day- I was talking with N and E about my last month and N was laughin and sayin- “She’s like us!”

1:42. Staring at some commercial with a huge “WWW” written on it, and in the WWW you can see a plane flyin on the sky, a pyramid and a woman in a hammock. Another sign near it says “start enjoying your trip now”. The “food village” is opening. Two guys put the chairs down from the tables and a short fuss of preparing to change seats is going around me. I have a wild guess about who might be Romanian in this row of seats, but I’d rather keep it mysterious. I bought a sandwich, a fruit salad and a smoothie and some nuts. And some jelly pink pigs that apparently taste like fruit. Which reminds me about the penguins last night, floating in the wine. This sounds almost like we had a pool of wine in which there were floating some penguins, but actually they were little blue plastic ice penguins from the freezer. Cucho and me wanted to name them but I don’t think we were as inspired as in the night with Oscar and Marx. I wonder if I should do anything else than write continuously until 6 o’clock, when the check in is. The wireless is a joke, you need to pay if you want to connect. That’s so random. I’m thinking to read the cards I got again, but then I will start crying and that episode is over. Last night when Rj and I were reading the cards from Javi was the best. Actually, me crying for 2 hours at the party was even better. Nico I hope I didn’t stain ur clothes. Thanks for bearing, you were not even drunk, poor Nico. I saw the pictures after the party and I have such a child’s face when I’m huggin Nico it feels like I was craving for affection (AGAIN) for so long.

07:17. airport. Had to get rid of about 15 kilos of clothes from my luggage. I have gate 2, on.

tuesday

had a flash the other night while semisleeping i saw the bd maria elisabeta near the pizza hut corner, i was semisleeping and then i felt a strong dust taste and sun, and i was there. luckily enough m was there to hold me in the real physical reality. but i think i have accumulated at least 4 or 5 realities by now. and then close my eyes and back again. i took a virtual bucharest tour, gettin ready. walked in cismigiu, on magheru, near my former highschool, zoomin in. i feel like a wet kitty. and then just this huge need to be hugged. something here just triggered this huge need for affection.

this is smth i wrote on the bus 2 weeks ago, when goin to t's goodbye party. part my part of the "CCTV celebrities" is based on it.

In London I experienced hunger.

There was a poster with this guy on an off licence shop, Ahmed Zarif. His picture. His name. Below it- RIP Ahmed Zarif. Behind him a whole sce

nery of forests and waterfalls. He was looking from

the other world in this white elegant suit with a perfect tie, like he knew something.

He pissed me off. Made me think of death again. Made me think of the limited number of years in front of me.

Walking with your thoughts. It’s like riding a horse. If you loose it, your head may get smashed. But you don’t. Cause you’ve been trained. That’s what they’re doing all your life. Teaching you to ride that horse. Don’t go with the wild horse, sweety! Slow it down, honey! Oh, honeypie, look at the horsey! Doesn’t it look so much nicer today than yesterday? Much nicer and domesticated? The horse will become even more nicer and even more domesticated with each passing day. You won’t even recognize it. It will be just as nice as all the other people’s horses. And then we can go to a nice horse parade together and drink som

e nice tea. Wouldn’t that just be lovely?

I don’t want to hurt anybody. But I do. The moment I am myself, I do hurt people around me.

The rule is killing. And we are living in this game. And they like it. People like to let other people kill them. They’re in love. To love is to let yourself be hurt. To allow yourself to be smashed.

I cultivate amnesia coz I try to forget all the moments that are so nonsensical that they make you question the pure fact of existing in t

his world. But those are wild horses. And as they say, you have to slow them down, slow down. Slow down. Here we go. Delete. Fresh. Refresh. Half of your life you try to forget what happened in the other half of life. Innit?!? Forget where you come from. How can you not? Those big grey blocks full of fear and desperation I’m going back to soon. They tell you- don’t speak, it’s better. If you stand out from the crowd, somebody will see you. Don’t be noticed. Just sit in your chair like a good girl and they will they care of you. Who takes care of you . the state. Who is the state. Nobody took care of me except from my pare

nts. Do you take care of me? Can you take care of me>? What is the limit? What is your line? Where’s the line? Forget about it. Fuck. Forget. That park one day. Our toys were such ugly ones. And the big metal cartoon characters. If you got lose to snow white u could see that rust and if you want to give her a hug you cut your face in the metal. Health and safety. Fuck that. Fuck that. I want home. I want home. No home. What home?
In the first day we have a deal. We will give you a

roof over your head, protect you and feed you, but we have some conditions. Rich people have conditions. First of all, you have to let us control you all the time. You will still be able to have a key to your room. Your room is called your personal space. You will be allowed to bring a few guests, but not more than 4 times a week. When they enter the building they have to show an ID with a photo. It can be any Id. Drivers’ licence is good as well. Yes. And keep the music low. We know you smoke marijuana but we will pretend we don’t/ you have to pretend that you don't know we know you smoke marijuana too. It is not allowed to touch children. It is not allowed to touch. Without touch. No touch. No touch. Hungry.

You come in such a civilized country to make a “forgetting” treatment. Forget the frustration. Forget the fear. You are a grown woman now. You will have a life of your own. Furnished with a partner. Furnished with love. But not too much lov

e. Coz you will stain the walls. How many times do you think we can afford to repaint this life? We are poor, Oana, remember. We are poor. What does that mean? I don’t even understand. Poor means when you cannot have those metal coins and paper notes to use, and because you don’t have them, the people who have them have to be understanding, tolerating and most of all not shake their hands thinking- oh, you know, people are so frustrated. They are almost like being sick in the head because of frustration. Can you imagine, not being able to have what you want? They are a bit sick, aren’t they? What do you think? They are right.

So the rich protect the poor because they understand them, and the poor try to live under this protection because otherwise they’re fucked

. Because the rich have some conditions. Don’t they?

That’s why we should be afraid of the poor. What I learned in London is to cross the street when you see somebody on the same sidewalk late at night and not to talk to strangers. Because that’s our understanding. Innit. Isn’t it strange that when you are close to somebody on the street, the impulse makes you go as further away the space allows you and yet you share the living space with so many different people everyday, trying to repress that feeling of running away because you can have some benefits from living close to some people? Is love a benefit? Is friendship a benefit? What is going on? Have the horses gone crazy? Have they, mommy? No honey, you’re good. You’re gonna ride your horses in a nice

way until you get far. And where will I get when I get far, mommy? You will get to your last moment, love. To the moment when you will breathe in, but not let the breath go out anymore. Keep it in you forever. And become just like that kitty your friend pet on the head when she came back from that party and didn’t notice the kitty was dead. A dead body. And then slowly become earth. Strange, mommy, does that mean that we’re walking on dead bodies all the time/ Coz we’re walking on the earth. Yes, sweetie, the earth is all the dead people from the beginning of the world. Being there so that you can live. And you will go there so that other people can live after you too. Coz without all the dead bodies, the earth would be gone, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t it, sweetie? Yes it would, mommy. Yes it would.
The moments I was close to understanding some very important things in my life were the moments when I was also scared as shit that I would die soon. I’ve always had this image of a car crushing me, or falling of stairs, or something. A click. A short click. But then after every moment like this, a part of me dies. And old part of me. And a new one’s born.

I’ve always hunted those moments of revelation. Maybe because I feel that I have to kill a part off me all the time. And to feed myself with it

. Hunger and death. Not enough pennies to take one more bus.

This will be a night you will never forget.

We are living following the rules of an agreement. And this agreement is called money. If you have them, the rule is that you are happy. If you don’t, the rule is that you are not happy. And you try to get some, to transfer some from othe

r people, in order to be happy. Sometimes you are not. You’re not, if you forget the rules of the game. You will be, if you play it properly. Innit?!?

This trip seems endless. I have to count my coins. Maybe they will give me some happiness.

I always liked the reflections of people’s faces in the bus’ windows. The bus is such a good space to understand the rules of the game. Here we are, close to one another, looking and being aware of each other’s presence, but ignoring each other at the same time. That is like a silent pact. We can either kill each other, or protect each other.

There's still so many things I don't get.

Tuesday. We have wednesday and thursday- the performance. then friday- the goodbye party. then vruuuuum.

.

the big cold

i ask myself the same questions as when i was 14, does that mean i am emotionally immature or just stubborn? sometimes i feel i'm some monster i have to drag with me wherever i go and at some point i know that people would be embarrased and i would have to drag the monster home, lock it in a cage and put a sheet on it. the last month has been only about that. about how to adapt myself and this stupid thirst i have, in order to live between other people. i became very self reflective and a bit more articulate in my thoughts. weird enough, i still don't get the convention. the convention between people. what are you allowed and what are you not. and where is this line people keep talking about. i was freezing this morning in the station. london cold, waitin 40 minutes to take the bus. sometimes i wish i lived amongst animals, animals when they are cold just gather one next to eachother and keep warm; the humans stand like stupid asses in their little coats and their little caps and just freeze. i guess they deserve it.

sunday morning, quiet in the house. there's a garden with a tree, and a big kitchen. the washing machine that washes for 2 and a half hours. the toasts with salt. the fridge buzzing. i try to get myself together. where does this expression come from? and how do you loose urself in order to then try to get it back together? i still try to understand this mechanism of the brain. what does the trick. projecting something and then being happy that it happened? i still try to understand what my tools for understanding are. i ty to articulate things in order to look at them as if they are another organism. like i am somebody else and i look at this person.

london. the big cold. same old police in the corner. the girls smashed with shoes in their hands goin out of venue. somebody peeing on the dean house fence, as always. i never understood why do they pee exactly where the door is. yestareday on the streets everybody seemed crazy, in the bus and all over the place. and then, passing clouds.

what happens to humans when they get drunk is that they scream for affection. their screams are embarrasing for some reason, that is why they don't like to remember. they scream so loud and so fearful that they have to control themselves from before.that's why we have bouncers. i strongly believe we are crippled. we have to deal with this need for affection and for togetherness that makes us hate eachother if we don't provide, and love eachother if we provide, and love because we don't want to loose the feeling that somebody loves you that much. what the hell happened on the way that we got so schizo? why are you a control freak during the day and a hysteric baby during the night? or maybe it's just my stupid way of dreaming about people. about that moment of togetherness that is not possible. maybe it's just a virus a nostalgic remain from a world in which we were all animals, a stupid nostalgia that you have to bare with.

what would u be if u were a tree

what would u be if you were a word

what would u be if u were a dream

july end

today i bought my ticket for bucharest, made the reservation. 4th october 09, sunday. almost one year now. somebody told me- ur gonna find us all changed when u get back. some things will be, but i fear most of the things will just be exactly the same. don't know exactly how to prepare for that except the fact that i will defenitely have my hair bleached again before coming home. or before going home. depends on the perspective.

last month, fast forward.

sold baloons on embankment and in trafalgar square. zi giraffe, zi dog, zi magic sword and zi helmet, zi clown and zi biutiful assistant and zi children all over the place. would you like a baloon? yes i would. serious. serious faces, big eyes, waiting for the coloured baloon animals to come to life. sometimes zi clown would pop the baloon by mistake and then we would shout- celebratiooooon!! and then take another baloon. keep your fingers crossed, otherwise the baloon won't come to life! and they did, and then the baloon would come to life. one baloon, 50p.clowns are hungry, clowns gotta eat, we'd say, and then the mothers will smile with their motherish wisdom, because they know what hunger means. where are you from? romania. how is romania? oh, there are even more clowns there. and the fathers would smile with their fatherish wisdom. fathers tend to be more political than mothers.

first day when we went to trafalgar, we sat near a woman who was painted as a statue, body paint and 18th century dress, standing for people to take pictures with her. at some point, she came to talk to us, and she asked where r u from? romania. really??? she asked in shock. yea, why? do you know it? do you speak romanian? da, mai vorbesc si romaneste. da de unde esti? din vrancea. then she went back to her place. colega.

joyce wrote in exile for all his life about the country he had left. he took a part of the country with him, though. but the part of the country he took, that was his wife, did never read his works. jung thought joyce has schizophrenia after reading ulysses.

sloane square area is the most expensive area on the planet. go planet.

i have a friend who can smell faces. she has this sense, and when she looks at a face, she can feel a smell, one certain smell, that will remain associated with the face for the rest of her life. my smell was very very syrup sweet, intense sweet.

working at cp, last month. i will probably never see some of those people again, which makes it even more incredibly strange. the sadness and melancholy and quietness they have. even when they're loud, they're quiet. even when they have a fight, they don't believe that they are right. the words and images they generate are so simple and beautiful. "if i was a moon, i want everyone to see me at the same time"

july beginning- gay pride, lady gaga and take that, wembley and 80000 people, strange clouds on the sky, always strange clouds on the sky. friends and beautiful memories that become memories even the second you live them because you know that in a few months you will not see those people. dinners and indian cooking, best food i ever had in london, and chilean parties. mixed up realities, and all of us smiling as if in a big hug, already on a postcard in our thoughts, with the sunset light behind us. busses and trains and streets. the parks, huge parks hidden in the heart of the city, and the football trainings with the young people. i always wondered- calling somebody a young person is a form of political corectness?

i got a pink inflatable saxophone which i have with me and i can sing whenever i want. i tied it up with baloons (the ones that already have popped, coz we can't waste a good baloon).

i also got a flower on emonth ago, and after a week i thought it died, coz it had only dead flowers on it, but rj taught me to rip the dead ones in order to make space for the live ones, and i did, and then other flowers came up.

my room looks like a playground. i sometimes think that all these coloured things and found objects that keep on gathering around me, and even my clothes and everything, are more what people see in me, and i am happy because of that. i never see myself like that. i see myself like senorita tristeza, but whenever i meet people, they wanna play. so the playground generates around us, and that is so beautiful. i wish it could all be a big coloured playground for the big kids.

senorita tristeza was a song i used to listen to last year in spring, when i was applying for goldsmiths. i listened to it on and on al lthe time and see thames in front of my eyes and embankment bridge while walking on bd magheru.

last week at embankment we met a guy who was performing charlie chaplin, his name was diego. he was from argentina. he left argentina at 25 years old, to go in other countries to perform chaplin on the streets, and he never stopped since. now he is 35. he moved from place to place, going around the world, with a 30 mins number with chaplin for the streets, and other stuff to perform inside, in theaters/venues, just him and some objects easy to carry around. he said he never went too much to eastern europe because there there is still tension on the streets. he said he would stop when he's old, and he'd seen all the world, and then he will go back to argentina to stay with his family, smoke, grow a big beard and a big belly. he was quite a chaplin. we asked him if he rehearses a lot and he said nooooo, not to much preparation, with too much preparation your mind is no longer free.

the moon and the bubbles and the universe

pa pa pa

brave beige

one of the videos from the performance "size me", by the brave beige

there are moments when water on thames is black and beautiful and you don't see the dirt anymore
everything is peaceful and you are home

PDA = public display of affection

PDLA = public display of love and affection

TMI= too much information

all of them forbidden as touching a child is forbidden

whenever i smile to a child i immediately feel guilty; and people still ask me why don't i want to stay in london after i graduate

i would like to see the londoners' darkest secret fetish fantasies i bet they are sooo bad ass
a guy told me last week that he really doesn't mind goin out with any type of girl, he went out with an afro-american then he went out with a brazilian and he was fascinated by the fact that i'm romanian

i think that all this diversity shit is worse than the nazi camps at least it has the potential

put a CCtV in the brain of the londoners and reinvent horror movies
one day a girl was just so sure that she can take me home with her and because she was drunk, she was already posessing me in her brain, she had the right to just pull me by my sexy yellow belt and drag me to her place oh i just wanna take you home!
i think she even had a little bondage fantasy
of course when we met again she just felt embarrased and said i'm sorry
all these things connect i think i can be such a sweet doll here in london
and omg these people who love really sweet dolls are really dangerous
the quantity of despise they have in their eyes
the quantity of hate they so elegantly repress and call it tolerance
i'm nice, i'm exotic and i'm fun.
i was talking with my friends the other day that we all seem to exagerate our "exotic" cliches just because people react to that and then it all becomes a joke.
i was at the refugees week yesterday at centrepoint and i think more and more that the only thing i respect here in london is people who are really hungry cooking for eachother.

if karate kid and charlie chaplin would have a child i would be their illegal daughter
or a warrior with 1000 de scuturi going down in
the water or somebody shouting under water to keep the flag
keep the flag keep the flag up the water
that moment when you go and undress
without even knowing when u are naked and that moment
of raising your head from the sleep when you thought you were dreaming
and are afraid to not forget what you were thinking about yourself
so you want to put it down and you know it matters
keep the flag up keep the flag up some voice shouts in the back of your head
boiling water and grandpa's laboratory for developing pictures in the bathroom

if only you could remember all these things as if it's always always
the same problem with keeping the present here and the perfect state of being
amnesia
is the big word amnesia i'm serious about myself and i know

all this shit matters

isn't it like a book i found on a shelf called something about surfing reality
and i was told it's about positive thinking

or was it trans surfing reality

we have to be careful with the right distribution of anger, love
memories, plans and excitement if you are a good gospodar you might
you just might oh if you are a good wise gardener in the garden of your mind and soul
and you handle with care wear with pride

weekend in the city superstar
gonna miss a lot superstar gonna loose ur way superstar
gonna wonder why doesn't he call gonna just roll
and roll
and roll
always like london in the morning with a pink filter
when all the people u see seem to come from the same party 6 am
and everybody is somebody u know everybody is somebody
hey
been wondering around embankment these days some ghosts
there with me on the bridge beautiful black water
dirty water and last night some guy with a guitar and a microphone
quite heart-breaking folk-ish wow got a bit lost under the london eye
he was singing stand by me and he was from japan or smth and i
was looking at the black waves and thinkin about other forms of life big ben
was there as well near us big ben from english my love big ben from
all the postcards everybody is living his dream and the dreams just
intersect and make a click like electricity when they do
when they don't just leave many ghosts and strange vibrations
frequences u can't quite reach i was watching the sunset in hyde park
with kazu yesterday he was in his world i was in mine
ducks and planes and all that shit no patience sorry
no more patience just clenching fists waitin for the movie to end
generic thank you great acting great conversation great timing now just go home

.

dream every night for 4 days now that i'm back home in my sleep i'm back home in bucharest but i wanna go back to london, when i wake up i'm in london and i wanna go back to bucharest.
2day it got a bit different- dreamt that i'm in bucharest and i wanna go back to london and that then i woke up in my dream and was in london and wanted to go back to bucharest. and then I really woke up. in london.

.

america's next top model made me have nightmares
but i really appreciate it it brought the poses to my life it brought tyra to my life it brought the models
now when somebody tells me something about my body i'm double aware
now when i see kids worried about getting too fat or too slim i know
after watching amnt for evenings on and on i got
my worst nightmares ever but now i know

that on this world paranoia hate and braindamage are for real

and now i know about lindsay lohan and about designers oh and now i know that
i miss home but hey
its the 29th of may
i just got a letter from loring hall telling me i have to pay 600 pounds but i don't know why
i can ignore or ignore no other options and hey
did you know how that cooking pancakes at 6 in the morning and then giving them to people
is a really nice way to start ur day even if those people are the ones who take money and then make them double or even more they move money like jesus moved the sick people
diggin more graves on the playground maybe jesus was the good zombie from a bad movie but hey
canary wharf is an experience
london eye is an experience omg everything is a experience and you have to experience
everything
peckham is an experience and brixton is an experience and soon
brixton jail will be an experience this summer and also
this and that and him and her and omg
i'm looking at my grandmas picture everyday when i drink tea
her picture is just behind the teapot
i think almost everyday about her just can't stop thinking that i missed the chance
of getting to know her i discovered her in a drawer just discovered how beautiful she was
no way of goin back now can't really speak to her but it's ok you know how things are

you understand how things are

i feel my mind gets color corrections everyday and everyday more

color scale and opacity

oh final cut pro

you can make the impossible possible. will you make me beautiful? will you make me ugly? will you make me meet the man of my dreams? maybe you will. when i edit i have the secret dream that i will meet a guy who will raise his eyes from behind the computer and will draw a horrible coloured heart just with his eyes and then we climb on a magic carpet and dive into paint buckets

the speed of my thoughts and desires

america's last top model

one day she'll fly away

and give all the bad bad people from down there a good frown

i just discovered

fear is the best adrenaline shot

walking trip, tiina's secret places